


Through the Threshold

by Empurata



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, Inspired heavily by classic gothic novels, Junkenstein, Junkenstein AU, M/M, Mercy & Reaper too but they're only them in appearance, Not using Reinhardt's name for the Lord, Oops, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Technically Reinhardt, Trans Character, Trans Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes, he's him in appearance only
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-20 22:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10671714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empurata/pseuds/Empurata
Summary: In which the woes and foes of Doctor Jamison Junkenstein push him past the brink to make a decision that will change his life forever.





	1. A Crude Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is my first Roadrat fic and my first posted fic. I've been struggling with writer's block for, like, a millennia, but Roadrat has inspired me to finally start creating again.
> 
> If you can't tell yet, this is a Junkenstein au fic bc I love the Junkenstein au so much and there's not nearly enough content of it. I love it but that's probably bc I'm a huge fan of classic gothic literature and Junkenstein is a play on Frankenstein ofc. Thus, my inspiration is greatly inspired by stories a few of my classic favorites, Frankenstein included.
> 
> ANYWAYS, I'm rambling. I'm nervous of posting and working on this fic. I have way too many ideas going through my head.
> 
> If ya wanna check out my Tumblr it's Ultimate-Meister.
> 
> Also, forgive me for any potential mistakes I may have made. It's difficult to begin stories when my head is stuck in the plot that occurs later. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Dark, thick clouds loomed ominously over the little town of Adlersbrunn. The night, like most there, was bleak and dreary, covered in a haze of grey that lingered indefinitely giving barely a contrast from day to night. Alperbrunn stood resolute in the very heart of the Dark Forest; whether that was good or bad was up to interpretation. Nevertheless, it was home to many, but a hell for one Doctor Jamison Junkenstein.

 

Junkenstein was a man of science, a magnificently talented one at that; his skills and ideas were far ahead of his time. Yet not a soul appreciated his work. Rather, he was shunned and loathed with every new invention, with every new idea, with each and every wretched step and breath, the doctor was constantly surrounded and bombarded with hate. He was seen as a “freak” and a “loose cannon;” a potential threat to society itself, but these came from opinions based on bigotry, ignorance, and even simply on the doctor’s physical appearance alone since everything about the man was “abnormal.”

 

Superstition was common among the citizens of Adlersbrunn. Living as and where they were, it was difficult to blame them as stories of all sorts of magic and monstrosities such as demons, witches, ghouls, and creatures of the like were well known. With superstition, grew fear. Anything that didn't directly follow the strict status quo was viewed as magic, witchcraft, or an abomination to nature and was quickly abhorred and rejected from society with no lack of ignorance. Even things such as alchemy or even science were greatly frowned upon.

 

And thus, the poor Doctor was all but welcomed by all those whom he encountered, like a curse, but Jamison didn't mind. He'd preferred not to share the obnoxious ideals of those lowly minded fools and live his life true to himself. So, Junkenstein had little regret with how he resided, in solitude along the outskirts of the town. His home, which had previously belonged to his father, sat at the edge of the forest. It was crudely built and a bit small, but it was good enough for him to use as his laboratory and to live. It was this home of his that he had finally managed to return to on this dreadful night.

 

With a scratch and desperate rattling of keys within a lock, Junkenstein pushed his way through the door of his home and slammed it behind him. He leaned against the thick oak door and let out a pained sigh.

 

After his latest debacle with the Lord of the town, a large and most unforgiving man, Jamison found himself in a mess of emotions, experiencing an immense onslaught of anxiety. His head began to ache as he recalled what had just happened.

 

_“My Lord, I present to you, my latest set of creations to assist you!” Junkenstein had announced brightly with a smile as he unveiled several of his automatons. Of course, there was no genuine feeling behind it. It was simply an act, a facade the Doctor learned to build up over time since the...Incident._

 

_Thick brows furrowed over a set of narrowed, judging eyes, despite one being paled with blindness. The Lord of the castle sat upon his throne, massive body looming above the scientist. His oversized hands crossed, as if thoughtfully, in front of his face. A finger moved to itch along the scar that covered his left eye, a play on being subtle while being with every means obvious about it as he eyed the doctor up and down in disdain. Not a word left the Lord’s lips._

 

_A chill went up Jamison's spine at the movement, but he repressed it with a small gulp. A quick, nervous lick over his chapped lips and the Doctor piped back up, his act starting to fall apart. “W..What do ye think?”_

 

_At last, a response rumbled to life from the Lord, “I have half the mind to simply destroy these useless trinkets you present me with and send you on your way, Doctor. I'll have you know, Adlersbrunn is in the midst of a debt..” Liar. Adlersbrunn’s finances were perfectly fine; the only issue was a certain greedy statesman with a taste for overly refined living who sat upon the throne._

 

_Junkenstein felt any hope for potentially affording food and other necessities for the next month and beyond begin to crumble. His gaze dropped to the floor in defeat._

 

_“...However, being the generous Lord I am, dear Doctor, I will give you pay despite having no interest in these mindless metallic drones..”_

 

_Jamison’s gaze quickly shot back up to the Lord at that, relief washing through him at those words, but that relief quickly vanished as he watched the Lord shift in his seat._

 

_A large hand plucked out one of the Doctor’s automatons that was idly hovering and examined it casually. To any other it would appear he was simply examining and appreciating the creation, but Junkenstein was familiar with the glint that shone through the large man’s eyes._

 

_“...Jamie,” The scientist froze; he knew what was going to be said next but he prayed he was wrong. “do you recall that offer I gave you some years back? Granted, it did not end well for either of us back then..”_

 

_The Doctor went rigid at the very memory, grimacing as he held onto where his prosthetic met what flesh remained of his right arm._

 

_“I wish to make that offer once again..” The large man practically purred, still not looking at the Doctor and merely stroking the head of the small, buzzing automaton he held despite the lack of finish, being the posh man he was._

 

_Something bitter and awful fell heavily into the pit of Jamison's stomach and made him want to retch. He despised that he was still yet the target of the Lord’s desires because he was different, “exotic” according to the large man._

 

_His interest was exclusively focused on Junkenstein's transition. Most people in town saw him as an abomination for it; cursing him and barely even seeing him as a human being. Just a freak. There was a time, several years ago, at which the Doctor thought he had the sympathy of the Lord. But he was fooled. The Lord was considerably worse than everyone else. What ailed Junkenstein the Lord found to be something he was interested in using as some personal fetish to indulge himself in. When the Lord made his horrid proposition all those years ago, Jamison refused him, apparently a shock to the Lord, for the large man reacted with an attempt of the unforgivable. Junkenstein defended himself with all of his might in hopes of escape, causing the scar that now marked and blinded the other man’s eye. It had stopped the assault, but the Lord retaliated in a much different and gruesome way. It was the night Junkenstein lost his right arm._

 

_Those superstitious tales told of monsters? Junkenstein never believed in them until that night._

 

_A rough cough and Junkenstein was snapped out of that horrible memory and faced with this current horrible moment. “..My response is the same as it was before, my Lord: no.” He said as calmly as he could, his voice soft while he stood tense, trying not to tremble where he stood._

 

_The large man’s face twisted up into something fierce and ugly, revealing the true monster that resided within. The poor automaton that he was holding was suddenly crushed, the circuits screeching before it fell limp. The Lord let it drop and nudged it away with his foot before resuming his position hunched over with his large hands tangled together once again before him._

 

_“I see..” The Lord muttered, disappointment thick in his voice. “Fine. Live your pathetic life scrapping around like the little freak you are; your life of 'science’ has gotten you nowhere and will continue to do so.” The large man said sharply, before digging out a measly little pouch of coins and tossing it at Junkenstein’s feet. “Your payment for the lousy decorations. Now begone.” He grunted with a wave of his large hand._

 

Junkenstein growled to himself upon remembering the recent encounter, his flesh hand clenching into itself, the glove being the only thing keeping his fingernails bloodying his palms.

 

“Absolute monster…!” He hissed out between clenched teeth, his body so tense with anger that it made his very bones tremble with the negative energy.

 

The Doctor couldn't stand all the abuse anymore. It was time to act.

 

Pushing himself up to his feet, he began to move, his usual limp in his gait. He made his way over to his desk, an utter mess covered in various notes and unfinished little inventions. He swiped most of it aside with one fell sweep of his arm and grabbed some spare parchment before hurriedly writing down his latest idea in a disorderly scrawl.

 

It mattered not where those notes ended up on his paper or how they looked. So long as they were there (to renew Junkenstein's memory and help him formulate a solid plan), it was perfectly fine. Along with his notes came a rough sketch of his idea. Once he got everything that had just filled his mind down, he dropped his utensil and gazed down at his idea to really think it through.

 

And by God, was it a brilliant plan indeed. Jamison cursed himself for not having thought of it before.

 

A sharp smile cut through his face and wrinkled his sallow cheeks. Now, it was with an excited titter that his body shook. This was it; this is what would show them, what would show them all that they would regret the day they ever laughed, insulted, or crossed Doctor Jamison Junkenstein.

 

He would create true life.


	2. Tea Time

Junkenstein’s elation towards his new plan was quickly interrupted by a light _tink_ against his peg leg which drew him back into reality. A quick glance down and the Doctor was met with uneven blue orbs that stared back up at him. Those blue orbs belonged to a tiny automaton he had created to make and deliver tea during a scheduled assortment of time, since Jamison often found himself far too swallowed up by his own work that simple things like making tea were forgotten with time’s passing.

 

The little automaton was cute in an ugly patchwork sort of way. In truth, it was the first actual automaton the scientist had ever built so he could not help but have a sort of nostalgic fondness for it.

 

With a soft, weary smile, Jamison bent down and carefully plucked the little mechanism up and set it up onto his desk, while also taking caution and tucking his latest plans under his arm.

 

“Evening, Mugsly, what have we brewing t’night?” Junkenstein asked quietly, gently plucking the makeshift tin mug that hung from a ring attached to the back of the small bot, hence the name.

 

Of course, the only reply that came from the little guy was an airy whistle that came from the little pipe that stuck out from its shoulder while hot air and steam escaped it. It lacked the ability to actually speak, unlike a few of the other, newer automatons, but it didn’t matter, Junkenstein felt he understood it all the same, if not more than the others.

 

“The usual, huh? Sounds delicious.” he remarked sarcastically.

 

Nevertheless, the Doctor gently set the mug in front of his small mechanical creation whilst letting out a soft sigh and resting his cheek upon an open palm as he leant into the desk. A little sensor was built into Mugsly to let the little guy know when to pour, however, being as old as it was, sometimes it would be a bit faulty. It seemed like now was one of those times.

 

“Oi, ya wee bastard. Now’s not the time to get your circuits in a twist. I’ve just come up with my most brilliant idea yet, ‘sides you of course.” Jamison remarked with a playful wink, “This tea marks a celebration to the mind’s work, the toast to ignite Junkenstein’s revenge!” He declared with an overly dignified air, hand moving proudly over his puffed up chest.

 

Little Mugsly merely let out another whistle from its steam pipe. Jamison paused before he drew back, an offended look on his face.

 

“‘Too dramatic??’ Listen, I didn’t set you up here for ya to give your lousy opinion,” the Doctor retorted with a huff before leaning in and tapping the tin mug against Mugsly’s little metal belly, “Now quit being a buggy little…bugger and pour me some bloody tea already.”

 

The little clanks that came from the mug connecting with the little robot finally seemed to have stirred its sensor back to life for a spout started to reveal itself from its middle. Jamison relaxed once again as this happened, happily keeping his mug in place as steaming hot tea gradually began to fill it, his playful mood done with for now.

 

A small smile of what appeared to be pride revealed itself on the scientist’s face as he watched his early creation whir and vibrate as it poured the hot drink. Jamison felt a sort of pride and fondness for most of his creations, though he didn’t admit it much, especially due to years upon years of constant belittlement directed to him and his work. That, and one other reason…

 

With a small _ding!_ the mug was full and the automaton’s tiny spout retracted, Mugsly proceeding to hover motionless. Pulling the mug towards himself, Jamison inhaled the steam and stared into the herbal brew to calm any remaining nerves. He glanced to his creation before reaching out and patting its little metal head.

 

“Thanks, mate..” He murmured. A couple optical blue lights stared blankly back at him, utterly emotionless, just as they, in truth, have been the whole time.

 

Right.

 

Jamison frowned. No matter how many times he enjoyed talking, bickering, or simply being with his creations, he was met with no genuine responses. His affections were never reciprocated, for what affection could a lifeless mechanism return?

 

A bitter sort of melancholy started to envelop Junkenstein. He was pathetic, trying to use machines to have some sense of what? Normalcy? Love? What level of pitiful did one have to sink to to get that low? Whatever it was, Jamison was at it. He had tried his damnedest in the past to make his creations with some sort of consciousness, but he was never successful with his attempts.

 

Junkenstein took a sip from his steaming cup of tea and sighed. He preferred mixing it with milk for a more solid and sweeter taste and even perhaps accompanied by a nice warm meal. But most of that was too expensive, for him at least, especially with the measly pay he was given from the Lord. For now, he had to settle for a watery, bitter drink to temporarily sustain his hunger. If only it could sustain his thoughts as well.

 

Perhaps, true life and consciousness was reserved solely for organic life. It was sensible, and the truth Jamison often found himself reluctant to admit. That conclusion wouldn’t stop the man from loving his various mechanisms, however. It would simply just help him feel less disappointed when his affections are never returned.

 

With these harrowing thoughts, Jamison also found himself having all the greater motive for his latest plan. Perhaps this creature he would bring to life could be a potential companion to him. Having no life-long biases based on society’s loathsome bigotry, laws, and superstition gave the Doctor hope that maybe, just _maybe,_ he would finally have someone in his life who might one day return his love. Simply imagining it made Jamison’s heart flutter. Could it be that there’s potential of there being someone to be the milk to his watery, bitter life? to make it more solid, and give it the sweet touch that it so desperately needed??

 

Then again, this creation could also hate him all the same and leave him. He wouldn’t try to force it to change its mind, of course; the freedom to make one’s own decisions was a key part of living. Jamison would never cross that line; his creation would be free to do as it pleased. But such a decision would still hurt nevertheless..

 

Dammit! What was he thinking?? Acting like some moody adolescent for something that didn’t even exist outside a mere idea yet! Oh, how Jamison despised the way his mind would wander and over-think just about everything.

 

The fact that he was currently unable to see probably didn’t help with that either now, as he realized the lenses to his glasses had fogged up completely with the steam of his tea. Now that he had escaped his thoughts, he removed them and wiped them over carefully with small rag he kept handy in his pocket. When he eased his spectacles back on, the Doctor glanced back at the little automaton that continued to hover idly on his desk.

 

Jamison gently took hold of the bot again and carefully set it back down onto the floor, giving it a light pat and push to its back to help send it on its way. “Thanks again for the tea, Mugsly. Dunno what I’d do without ya..” He spoke, ending with a quiet sigh as he shifted to watch the little thing wander off.

 

After a moment’s peace of watching the little guy go, Junkenstein turned back to his desk and pulled his plans back out on display before him from where they had previously been tucked beneath his armpit. A gloved finger set itself upon the written notes, following as he silently read them over, taking the occasional sip of tea. Jamison’s brows, though lacking of any actual eyebrows, furrowed noticeably as he figured the first step of his plan.

 

“Right...have to have a body…” He muttered, his tone wary, knowing full well that it meant that he had to find one, one fresh enough to use. And that implied that he had to go out into public and eavesdrop for any recent tragedies.

 

The thought of defiling any recent graves put the Doctor on edge, not because it was disrespectful or wrong, no, because he was fearful of getting caught. Then again, the thought of using any inhabitant in this wretched town’s remains for his creation didn’t sit well with Jamison either, for they did not deserve to be any part of his future creation. However, there were no lack of travellers that came through Adlersbrunn, typically taking long treks to cross the Dark Forest. So, perhaps, Junkenstein could potentially find use within those poor souls who were foreign to the dangers of the woods and thus met with unfortunate endings.

 

Jamison concluded that this part of his plan would have to take an expert amount of patience, timing, and sheer luck. So he wasted no more time and stood, heading over towards the door and removing a cloak from the rack next to it and wrapped it around himself to at least somewhat conceal his identity. He had no wish to stick out like a sore thumb and cause any potential suspicion, so the cloak would work best, hood and all.

 

He was about to head out when he glanced back at his desk and quickly rushed to it. Jamison grabbed the tin mug and downed the rest of it, dregs and all, forcing the rest of the bitter stuff down his throat before setting it down onto the floor. Mugsly would practically have an existential crisis if it couldn't reach the mug when it came back along to retrieve it.

 

With that one last thing, Jamison nodded reassurance to himself and headed back towards the door, leaving his home for the second time tonight, though this time with a look of determination in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came quicker than I intended. I'm not likely gonna update this consistently. I have no idea how frequent my updates will be, but working on more of this was greatly due to those of you who stopped to read it and even comment. Like, wow, did it inspire me.  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter !!


End file.
